


Myosotis

by eternalsojourn



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Angst, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-23
Updated: 2011-05-23
Packaged: 2017-10-21 08:04:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/222890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternalsojourn/pseuds/eternalsojourn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames tests the limits of forging and gives them both a scare. Or: the first time they kissed and meant "I love you".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Myosotis

**Author's Note:**

> **Beta** : [](http://night-reveals.livejournal.com/profile)[**night_reveals**](http://night-reveals.livejournal.com/). Thank you, darlin', you've the patience of a saint.  
>  **A/N** : This was written for the Inception Kissing Comm prompt, "the first time they kiss and mean 'I love you'". My original fill can be found [here at Kiss and a Dream](http://kissandadream.livejournal.com/1679.html). The title is another word for the forget-me-not flower.

“Eames?” Arthur says, seeing Eames’s shirtless profile in the bathroom, head bent forward and his hands gripping the edge of the sink.

Eames sweeps his poker chip off the counter and drops it into the pocket of his loose jogging pants slung low on his hips. He wipes his hand over his face, then looks up into the mirror.

Arthur stops at the doorway, one hand resting on the frame. He sighs softly. “You’re here. You’re you. The chip isn’t going to say any different,” he says, although truthfully he thinks Eames can check his chip as many times as he wants to, until he’s convinced.

“I know,” Eames’s voice is barely above a whisper.

“No you don’t, but that’s okay. You will,” Arthur reassures him. “It’s natural.” It’s not. “No one forges for a week solid without breaking character. It will take a few days to recover.” Arthur says it with as much straightforward pragmatism as he can muster, which is a lot. But he doesn’t know. It’s all best guesses and conjecture when it comes to this kind of thing.

They never should have let Eames do it. They needed the forge for too long and the mark’s husband was too close in demographic and personality to Eames himself. Forgers tended to steer clear of jobs like that, lest the lines get blurred. But they needed Eames’s unique blend of talents for a job this complex, the improvisational skills that became his trademark since the inception job. Cobb was at his charismatic best when convincing Eames to join them. Arthur knew better than to rely on his and Eames’s occasional bed-sharing arrangement to be enough enticement on its own.

Eames, never one to back down from a challenge, accepted, and performed beautifully. Another job successful, another hefty paycheck for all of them.

It’s been two days since Eames opened his eyes, blinking confusedly as Arthur removed his cannula. Two days of staying by Eames’s side and Arthur’s exhausted from his vigil. There has been progress: Eames doesn’t sit with his hand constantly jammed in his pocket any more, doesn’t obsessively look in every reflective surface. But there are still these moments every few hours when Eames steals away, and Arthur’s heart sinks a little every time.

He moves into the room, slides his hand over the small of Eames’s back, trails his fingers over the dip of his spine. He looks at Eames in the mirror; it takes a moment, but Eames meets his eyes.

“It is getting better,” Eames says and Arthur can hear that he believes it. The relief is a mere trickle over the parched landscape of Arthur’s worry, but it’s relief nonetheless.

Seeing Eames in the mirror looking vulnerable in a way the he just doesn’t, ever, throws a light on Arthur’s mental state for the last few days. The thought that Eames could forget who he is had never occurred to Arthur before. For two days he’s had Mal’s name floating around the edges of his mind, has tried desperately to ignore it. But now, seeing Eames’s eyes clear and steady in the mirror, Arthur can’t help but note the difference from Mal’s faraway gaze.

“If you had...” he begins, and Eames shakes his head.

Arthur turns to face him, places a hand on Eames’s cheek turn his head to meet his eyes. He wants to say something, everything, to tell Eames what it’s been like to watch him struggle. But there’s nowhere to begin, so he just closes his eyes and kisses him, feels him respond, their lips warm and interlocked.

He feels Eames’s hands come to rest on his hips, and the kiss breaks.

“I know,” Eames says. “Me too.”

\--End--


End file.
